


I can see (how this will end)

by nameless_bliss



Series: Every Breath That Comes Before [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: But pining in a pessimistic way, Canon Compliant, Competence is a Love Language, David-Typical Anxiety, Episode: s03e10 Sebastien Raine, Introspection, M/M, Mentioned David/Sebastien, Mentioned Sebastien Raine, POV David Rose, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Present Tense, Self-Esteem Issues, pessimism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: Patrick smiles his usual, mild smile. “What’s your drink?”David waves a hand dismissively, going back to the last invoice. “It’s complicated. Just get a coffee.”“No, tell me. I wanna get it right.”The first time David imagines Patrick leaving him, they aren’t even together.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Every Breath That Comes Before [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055105
Comments: 34
Kudos: 233





	I can see (how this will end)

The first time David imagines Patrick leaving him, they aren’t even together.

***

He should go back to his room. He could get a few hours of (actual, restful) sleep, have a cinnamon bun, take a shower, take sixteen showers, do damage control on the skincare he’d very much skipped last night, and put on something different—something softer, something more comfortable. Hell, if it came to it, he could even take up Mom’s offer to go get breakfast together. It’s still ungodly early, it’s only _barely_ past 8:00; he could do all of that and still start his day earlier than usual.

But, the thing is, he doesn’t want to. Even when faced with some of his favorite concepts (sleep, skincare, cleanliness, food), he realizes it’s not enough. There’s something he wants more. 

So he leaves Moira at her room, and accepts her uncharacteristically affectionate double-cheek kiss, and he walks away. He doesn’t know if Sebastien went back in his room, or if he’s still standing on the sidewalk, watching him. David is surprised at how little willpower it takes to not look over his shoulder and check.

As dirt parking lot turns to dirty road, David doesn’t even think about all the other things he could be doing, the things that could make him feel the slightest bit closer to normal. He doesn’t want any of them. He feels like he’s about to shake out of his skin, like there’s static building up in his chest, ready to take him out with a shock if he bumps against a doorknob. And he knows that there’s only one place that can soothe away this feeling.

But when he gets to the store, he finds the door already unlocked—which unsoothes him even further, and that’s just not fucking fair. He _knows_ he locked up yesterday, and he’s not emotionally capable of admitting that he might have left his beautiful store unprotected, open to the horrors of the town. The lock must be broken, there needs to be a fault that’s not _his_ , so he can— 

Glass shatters.

_“Shit!”_

Patrick is standing in front of the counter, with a broken jar of clay face mask at his feet. 

David blinks. “Well. I see now that you only asked for a set of keys so you can come in and destroy my products when I’m not around.”

Patrick’s face is doing a lot of noisy things (his face is very loud, in general, and David is pretty sure he finds that annoying), but after a moment, he settles on an embarrassed shrug. “Yeah, it’s a long con. I’m helping you create this business just so I can take it down from the inside. One jar at a time,” he nods down to the mess on the floor. 

David hums dismissively. “Remind me to check those grant applications before you send them, so I can make sure you’re not intentionally fucking them up to sabotage me.”

Patrick tilts his head. “But to be able to tell if they’re wrong, wouldn’t you have to know how to do them right in the first place?” He has a stupid, smug smirk on his face, and his voice is playful, because he clearly thinks he’s teasing, like he always does, but that’s… 

David pulls his shoulders back, and quickly schools his expression to make sure the contempt comes through before the hurt has a chance. And he opens his mouth, trusting that the first thing out of it will be cruel enough that he’ll regret it for days— 

Patrick’s smile softens. “Sorry.” He nods toward the jar again. “So what’s this gonna cost me? Can’t have the books be off before we even open.”

David’s mouth is still open. For some reason, he can’t get it to close. The retort is still on the tip of his tongue, unaware that it’s no longer needed. “Um… hm. The jars that size are going to retail for $38.50.”

The part of Patrick’s face that should contain eyebrows jumps up toward his hair. He purses his lips, and nods slowly. “Good for us,” he says (and David pointedly doesn’t notice that that’s the second time in a row he’s referred to the store as a ‘we’ situation, and he certainly doesn’t have any feelings about that, either). Then his expression shifts back into his deadpan, non-smiling smile. “For future reference, though, do we have anything that’s gonna be more in the $5 range? Just for the next time I want to break something.”

David lets his face soften, the tiniest bit. “You’ll probably want to stick to the lip balms.” He waves a hand. “I’m sure they’ll crush very easily under those hideous caveman boots.”

Patrick laughs at the insult. “Noted.” When he’s done laughing, he keeps looking at David, and it’s… it’s longer than it needs to be. He sort of… lingers.

Then he clears his throat, and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Right. So I’ll—I’m gonna…” he gestures to the mess, “I’ll get this cleaned up.”

“Right,” David says. He’s finally starting to remember that he came here because he thought it was the one place in this fucking town where he could be alone for a hot second, and now there’s suddenly a rogue Patrick running around. And David has been realizing lately that being with Patrick is the furthest thing possible from being alone. 

“Well. And I have,” David shakes his head, searching for words, “orders. I need to look at. So.” He delicately steps past Patrick’s mess, and escapes to the back room. There’s a stack of invoices and packing lists on the desk that need to be matched up, and while that’s not like, a _great_ way to spend his time, it’ll at least give him something else to focus on for a few minutes. 

As he opens the filing cabinet, he realizes that he didn’t ask Patrick why he was here so early in the first place. He didn’t even think to question it. It just made sense to see him here.

But that… that’s a thought for another time. Right now, he has work to do.

Patrick knocks on the wall, and David snaps back to reality. He has to blink a few too many times; he’s been squinting at tiny numbers long enough to make his eyes hurt. The first thing out of his mouth is an elegant, “Huh?” which he regrets immediately. 

Patrick smiles his usual, mild smile. “I was thinking of running over to the Cafe. Want anything?”

The question alone is enough to make a caffeine headache suddenly appear behind David’s eyes. He glances at his phone to see that, yes, it’s a good hour and a half past his usual macchiato. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“What’s your drink?”

David waves a hand dismissively, going back to the last invoice. “It’s complicated. Just get a coffee.”

“No, tell me. I wanna get it right.”

David looks up. Patrick’s expression hasn’t changed. There still isn’t any hint of teasing, no sign of a trap, even as David continues to eye him carefully—for much longer than he should.

Finally, David says, “I’ll text you.”

Patrick’s smile deepens, enough to dimple his cheeks. “Sounds good.”

While he’s gone, David continues to stare at the invoice in his hand. He keeps waiting for his brain to register the words he’s looking at, but it just… doesn’t happen. He keeps frowning down at the paper, minute after minute… 

Because he hasn’t had caffeine yet. That’s all it is. Obviously. It has nothing to do with… anything. He just needs to wake up. That explains the fuzziness in his head, and the weird feeling in his stomach. 

And it absolutely explains the way his heart speeds up a bit when he hears the front door open. It’s because the caffeine is here. That’s all.

Obviously.

Patrick reappears, drinks in hand. “I gotta say, David, that’s not actually that complicated.”

David frowns as he takes the cup that’s handed to him. “What?”

“The drink. I was expecting a full secret menu recipe, but that’s only like, three things.”

David frowns even more, because he’s not sure if Patrick is placating him and downplaying his neediness, or calling him and his precious macchiato Basic. “Well, I’m sorry my order isn’t interesting enough to hold your attention.” 

Patrick laughs. “Yeah, I’m used to the much more engaging specificity of… tea.” He holds up his cup. “I asked Twyla what kinds the Cafe has, and she said they have, and I quote: ‘Tea’. Which is also the only word on the label.”

David hums blandly as he sips his drink, willing the caffeine to seep directly into his veins. 

Patrick leans one shoulder against the doorway. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“My first clue was when you showed up to a public place before 10am.”

“Okay, but the store isn’t public yet? I had this weird idea that I wouldn’t have to see anyone else while I was here.”

God, why does he sound so mean? He doesn’t want to be a dick right now, but it’s like his stupid mouth is making that decision for him, bypassing his brain altogether while he looks on, helpless. 

But again, Patrick just laughs—which is almost worse? Because he either doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that he’s literally being low-key bullied, and neither option is a great look. “Yeah, and I had this weird idea that I should come in and _work_ at the place where I work.”

“Mm, how _responsible_ of you.”

Okay, _god—_ that’s enough. David’s mouth needs to be put on probation until it can fucking behave for one goddamn sentence. “Anyway,” he clears his throat, forcing himself into something resembling politeness. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night,” he says, both as an answer to Patrick’s original question, and as an explanation for his whole… him, today.

“Rough night?”

David can’t quite keep himself from grimacing, because, “You could say that. My ex was in town, and h—”

Patrick laughs into his cup.

David’s stomach drops, an automatic reaction that kicks in before he can even tell _why_ he’s being laughed at. “Um?”

“No. No, sorry, it’s just—” Patrick shrugs. “Just caught me off guard to think of someone being ‘in town’ in _this_ town, y’know? This doesn’t seem like the kind of town where anyone’s ex is in town.”

It takes David a moment to convince himself that he can abandon his cautious scowl, that he’s not the butt of this particular joke. “Well,” he says, uncertainly. 

Then he finds his footing again. “I don’t know if it makes it more or less humiliating that he wasn’t even here for me. He came all this way just to be a piece of shit to my mother.”

“Sounds like he needs a hobby.”

“Or a kick in the balls.”

Patrick perks up. “Oh, is he still here? I’ve been told that my caveman boots are very good for crushing things; I’m sure they’d do the job.”

David laughs—it’s a soft, punched-out sort of thing that shakes his shoulders and splits his mouth open in a smile, and it… it surprises him. He didn’t think he was going to laugh, today. “That is very generous of you,” he says, “seeing as you don’t really seem like the ‘physically assault the douchebag ex’ type.”

“I mean, when it’s called for,” Patrick shrugs.

“Of course.” David indulges himself in a dignified smirk. “Regardless, I’m pretty sure I already ran him out of town.”

“Glad to hear it.” Patrick raises his cup in a toast. His smile is teasing, but in a way where it’s clear that David’s not the one being teased. Like they’re in on the same joke together. David doesn’t know how a smile can do that.

After a moment, Patrick takes another sip. “So.” He nods behind him. “I should get back to work. Leave you to enjoy your boring drink.”

David should have a retort for that—but Patrick is already gone. David looks out the empty doorway, and… 

And he… 

He holds his cup in both hands, feeling the heat seep through the insufficient cardboard sleeve. He takes a sip, and he lets it sit on his tongue. It’s perfect. The right amount of sweetness. The hint of cocoa powder. The different flavors play out at different times, in different places in his mouth. It’s a layered experience. It’s surprisingly palatable, for something from the Cafe. And it’s apparently, maybe _…_ not that complicated. Not too complicated. And he… 

Hm.

He’s not sure what starts it, what actually makes the thought cross his mind. It’s probably nothing. It’s probably just the fact that he didn’t get his caffeine as early as usual. Or it’s the fact that he didn’t sleep well, the… the night he had. The morning. Or it’s the person he spent the night with, or the person he’s spending this morning with, or it’s the caveman boots or the stupid upside-down smile or the taste of the macchiato that was ordered perfectly or the teasing or the way all of these innocuous things pile up in this hell of morning that just makes him… think.

He can hear Patrick out in the store. He can hear boxes being shuffled around on tables, and the delicate clatter of jars, and a few minutes later, whistling.

Whistling. 

Patrick is _whistling._

God.

It would be so respectful. A diplomatic decision. A Patrick Brewer breakup would have a lot of cliches, but he would find a way to make them sincere. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ would be apologetic. ‘I think we’d be better off as friends’ would be optimistic. ‘We should focus on the business’ would be selfless and self-sacrificing. Patrick probably knows how to break up with someone in a way that leaves them feeling honored, like they’re not only making the right decision, but doing something righteous. It’s probably a masterclass, a thing of beauty. He’s probably still friends with all of his exes. 

If he even has exes. The thought is almost absurd, because it implies that he would ever date someone who wasn’t right for him. Like he’d ever treat dating as a casual decision. Like he doesn’t have an excel spreadsheet that runs twenty complex formulas to analyze the pros and cons of any potential partner before he even considers asking them out. Part of David is certain that Patrick has never been on a date in his life, because if he had, he’d obviously be married to them by now. But, another part of him knows that no one wears jeans this tight without catching someone’s attention—especially with thirty years of opportunity. 

Which means he’s done it before. Patrick has almost certainly gone through a breakup. And he was probably so decent about it that they ended up thanking him for it. 

Ugh, _decent._ That’s it, that’s exactly it, that’s exactly what he is. He’s so decent he’s like a Disney prince. But not even one of the newer ones with intentional character flaws, he’s like a goddamn Silver Age Disney prince, literally just there to look handsome and be Noble. If Patrick Brewer breaks up with you, you know it’s a morally right thing, a minor obstacle he needs to overcome before he can slay the dragon—or maybe you are the dragon? In this metaphor, David’s probably the dragon. Historically, he’s been one small point of rising action in other people’s stories; he’s always long gone before the denouement.

“Hey, David?” Patrick calls, “Have you seen those scissors anywhere?”

“Next to the cash,” David calls back.

There’s a pause, and then he hears, “Yep, got it!” in that chipper, agreeable, decent, _ridiculous_ tone Patrick always uses when he’s working. When he’s climbing a ladder because he offered to wash the tops of the windows. When he’s explaining the newest form for them to fill out. Fuck, even that time last week when David found a dead mouse upstairs, Patrick had still used that pleasant voice before he just took care of it, without David even having to ask. 

It’s a weird paradox. Is it a paradox? Maybe it’s a contradiction. Because Patrick is usually so sharp, and _ruthless_ in his mockery. He’s never once hesitated before making it perfectly clear that he thinks David said (or did, or was, or is) something stupid. He’s obviously comfortable being shockingly honest about what he doesn’t like. 

But then, in the same breath, he sounds like _this,_ about the most menial work, about absolute bullshit. He’s out there putting labels on hundreds of jars, and he sounds like he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his time. He’s so fucking decent. His work ethic is sickening. It’s almost like he actually _likes_ being here. 

That would be another part, wouldn’t it? Of the breakup David is writing for them in his mind. That would be the other thing—hell, probably the _main_ thing, really. 

This. The store.

Because, like, _maybe_ he’d just make a clean break. Dump David, dump the store, and go back to his tchotchke-covered desk in Ray’s living room like none of it happened. That would be best. Not for the store, obviously, but for Patrick. It’d be easiest. 

But David doesn’t think that’s what would happen. Because the _decent_ thing would be for him to stay. Because commitment and professionalism and contracts and all that garbage. If Patrick broke up with him, he’d stay. They’d still have their store, and they’d still have to… do this. Every day. 

God, it would be horrible. Patrick would dump him over dinner—a nice dinner, at a fancy restaurant, probably in Elmdale. Maybe even Elm Valley. And then they’d both be here to open in the morning. They wouldn’t even get a day apart. 

No, that’s not right. Because Patrick would have thought of that. He’d do it on a Sunday night, because the store is going to be closed on Mondays. Patrick would dump him the night before their day off, so they’d have some space. Of course he would. Because he’s so fucking _decent._ Hell, he’d probably offer to take care of the store for a while, he’d offer to let David take time off. Fully paid, not even out of his vacation days (how many vacation days are they going to have? David hasn’t checked). He can— _eugh_ —David can fucking hear it, in that gentle, _decent_ tone: ‘Take a few days, David’, ‘Take as much time as you need, David’, ‘Come back whenever you’re ready, David’, ‘It’s fine, David’, and he’d _mean it._ He’d think it was fine, he’d think the whole thing was _fine._

Fine. 

It’d be fine, it’d be a… blip. It’d be something Patrick does, something he gets over, and something he… deals with. For Patrick, it would be a little, unimportant mistake. A brief error in judgement. Embarrassing, sure, and awkward for a little while. But in the long run, not much of anything. He’d handle it perfectly, and he’d get over it, and that would be that. 

All of that work, for nothing.

David takes another drink— 

It’s empty. 

When did that happen?

He blinks. He gives the cup a little shake, making sure there aren’t any drops left sloshing around. 

Hm.

He takes a breath. He takes stock. And… sure. He’s had his drink, and had some time, and it… worked. Because he stands up to throw away his empty cup, and he’s fine. the headache has subsided, and his chest feels less tight, and his brain finally processes the words on the last invoice, so he can tuck it into the appropriate hanging folder. 

It’s fine.

And after all of that, it only takes a bit of a pep-talk to convince himself to go out on the floor. Sure, the back of his neck feels a little warm, but that’s because he’s un-showered and un-skincared and incorrectly dressed and wholly unprepared for social interaction right now, and it’s… 

It’s fine. Patrick is unpacking another box of face masks (the ones he hasn’t broken), and the appropriate label sheets are in a nice little stack, and it’s fine. 

David stands at the table, across from Patrick, and he starts labeling jars, and… and it’s fine. They work. It’s quiet, but that’s fine. It’s comfortable. David isn’t used to silence feeling like this, feeling… alright. Especially with someone like Patrick, a near-stranger, unfortunately chipper, an honest-to-god _morning person_ who seems capable of small-talking any situation to death. Right now, he lets them be quiet. 

Well, for a few minutes. Then he starts whistling again. 

But… David’s not sure he minds. He probably does, because, _seriously._ But it’s not as bad as it should be. It’s… fine. It’s decent.

Decent.

David clears his throat.

Right. 

Focus.

Things to do. Labels to apply. Work to… work. David needs to get his shit together. It’s just jars and labels.

Patrick certainly doesn’t seem to be having any troubles with it. He seems like he’d be fine doing this all fucking day, standing at this table, applying labels to David’s ridiculously high standards and whistling something that sounds horribly like ‘Surrey With the Fringe on Top’ (dear god, he’s literally standing here whistling Rodgers and Hammerstein, what is _with_ this asshole). He’s ridiculous. He’s not a person, he’s a fucking cartoon character. 

And—

And that’s the piece of this that David is forgetting. None of this matters. None of his little flights of fancy or daydreams or ideas. He could imagine the most detailed, accurate breakup ever, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because for Patrick to break up with him, Patrick would have to date him first. Decent, cartoon, whistle-while-he-works Patrick Brewer would have to want to go on at least one date with him. 

And even David’s imagination isn’t strong enough to picture that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed series. Each fic is a continuation of the same theme, but can be read as standalones without losing context. Parts two and three will be posted on Wednesday and Friday, and I promise they will be Happier and Softer than this one. 💜
> 
> Title taken from "This Will End" by The Oh Hellos.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! I'd always love to hear from you, either here or over on my [tumblr](https://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/post/637478631367671808)! Wash your hands, check in with someone you love, and take care of yourselves!


End file.
